


for you i have so many words

by Joana789



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Introspection, M/M, The Piano Scene, and some of my musings about it bc i'm still not over it, basically lucas and playing the piano lmao that's the fic, jesus i can't believe i'm posting this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 03:10:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17675327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joana789/pseuds/Joana789
Summary: Lucas first plays the piano when he’s six.It’s one of those things you learn once and then never really forget. Let it into your heart and it never leaves again.





	for you i have so many words

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from "i forget where we were" by ben howard
> 
> i wrote this within 2 hours and was listening to dubstep the whole time :') i can't believe it exists tbh........ i might delete just so you know

 

Lucas first plays the piano when he’s six.

It’s one of those things you learn once and then never really forget, like riding a bike, or swimming. He first plays the piano on a summer afternoon hazy with warmth, with all the windows wide open and the sun coming into the apartment in beams of gold. The piano is tucked into the corner of their small living room like it has been since Lucas can remember; it’s a little old, a little rickety. His mom plays it, sometimes, when she’s feeling like it.

Lucas sits down next to her, once, and again — it’s like swimming or riding a bike. You can’t unlearn that.

His mom is not a musician. Even as a six-year-old kid, Lucas figures there must be people who can play better than her; she says that herself, too. She makes mistakes as she plays, sometimes, and shakes her head at herself then. But Lucas doesn’t really care that there are people who are better because other people don’t smile like she does when she plays. Other people can't fill all the rooms with sound like this, can’t make the melody spill out onto the street through the open windows like she does.

Lucas thinks he likes the way his mom plays best.

So he sits down next to her, once, just to watch at first, but then she asks, ”Would you like to play something with me?”

So Lucas says, ”Yes.”

  
*

  
There is something magical about it, Lucas thinks. He would never say that out loud, not really, but that’s what he thinks — that there’s something extraordinary about being able to just create music like this, whenever you want. About pressing a key and building whole worlds. Making other people feel so many different things.

They play together a lot, his mom and him. She teaches him the basics, guides him through it all, and when Lucas gets a good grasp on what to do, he starts practicing on his own. His mom finds a couple of piano pieces printed out on an off-white paper and shows Lucas how to read notes.

The corner of their living room where the piano stands becomes the most vibrant part of their whole apartment. Sometimes, Lucas comes back home from school and goes straight there and plays until the neighbors next door start knocking on the wall to make him stop, or his dad comes back from work and eventually tells him to go do his homework.

Lucas never goes to any professional piano classes; he wouldn’t want to, anyway.

  
*

  
His dad is not nearly as enthusiastic as his mom when it comes to the whole piano thing. Lucas doesn’t really get it, for a long while, until one day, he suddenly does.

He hears his parents argue about it, once or twice, when he’s supposed to be asleep but isn’t. _It’s so useless,_ Lucas catches his dad’s not so quiet voice, all the way from the kitchen. He opens his eyes, and his room is dark. It’s past midnight. _I’d rather prefer him to go play basketball or read some books_ _like_ _all the other boys do._

 _Why does everything always has to be somehow useful to you,_ his mom says, and she sounds sad. Lucas doesn't like it. _Can’t you see how happy it makes him?_

And yeah — playing the piano really does make him happy, in some extraordinary way. Lucas starts thinking that maybe it shouldn’t, somehow.

  
*

  
When he’s twelve, his mom starts feeling bad. That’s what his dad tells him, and not much else, until one day the three of them go to a clinic Lucas has never been to before and then a doctor tells Lucas a lot of things he doesn’t really understand. It’s all very complicated. His dad looks kind of sad. His mom holds Lucas’ hand throughout the whole meeting as if it was him something was happening to.

After, it’s weird for a while, until Lucas eventually gets used to it. His mom gets sad, and then she’s okay, and then she’s sad again. It’s not that simple, Lucas knows this, but for a while, that’s what it comes down to. Sometimes it’s better, and sometimes it’s worse. He remembers the doctor saying, _recovery is not linear_.

Mom asks him to play the piano for her, sometimes, when she’s not feeling well again, and sits next to him by the keys. It’s strange, how the roles get reversed so easily, Lucas thinks. But he plays for her anyway, because it seems to help just a tiny little bit. She plays the piano less and less these days, but it’s okay. It’ll be okay.

  
*

  
Lucas doesn’t really catch the moment when she stops playing completely. He only remembers about it when he realizes he hasn’t seen her play in weeks. He sits at the piano, then, and smoothes out the music sheets and starts playing a piece, but then his dad snaps at him to _maybe do it some other time, for god’s sake_ from the other room and— it feels kind of stupid, anyway. He’s never felt that way about playing the piano before, but he suddenly does, now.

He starts playing less and less, too.

  
*

  
He plays for Yann, once, when his parents are not home, stupidly nervous about it, like it’s something special. It’s really not — it’s just an instrument that Lucas happens to know how to play. That’s all there is, really. It’s what he tells himself. The piece he plays is just a couple of sounds strung together.

”You’re really good at this, bro,” Yann tells him, appreciative, when the last of the notes fade into silence, and for a second Lucas wants to turn and tell him what all of this means to him. That he played for Yann because Yann is important, and special, and so much more. That it’s so extraordinary, always has been, and does he think so, too?

But when he does turn to Yann, away from the piano keys, he only sees friendly appreciation. Lucas wasn’t expecting anything, but— but maybe he was, somewhere in the back of his head, in the same place he used to keep all of his mom’s smiles when they played together. Maybe he played for Yann because he wanted Yann to see something. See another part of Lucas that is private, and secret. Something others don’t get to see.

He feels disappointment spread under his skin, vulnerable like a bruise.

Yann is not really the kind of person who would fawn over a piano piece, anyway. Lucas knows this. So what was he thinking, really?

 _Ridiculous_ , Lucas thinks, but only says, ”Thanks,” shrugging, and they go to his room to play video games. That’s that.

  
*

  
He stops playing after that. Whatever magic was there about playing the piano in the first place — the thing he fell in love with at the age of six on a summer afternoon — it’s gone now. He doesn’t touch the piano in a month, and then it turns into two, three, more. That’s easy.

And then, when he moves out, feeling guilty and angry and broken — when things get _really_ bad with mom, and Lucas just can’t do it alone anymore, so he decides to not do it at all — he only grabs a couple of things from his room, and, as he passes the living room on his way to the front door, doesn’t look at the piano once.

That’s easy, too.

  
*

  
He thinks about it, sometimes, though. Wonders if his mom ever goes back to playing, now that she’s on her own, as is Lucas, as is his dad. Lucas thinks she might, and imagines her sitting at the piano again, on a good day, trying out the sounds, hitting some random keys and shaking her head at herself as she did years ago, smiling like she did.

He misses her, then. Occasionally sends her a text, just to have some kind of a flimsy proof that they’re still a family, even if it barely feels like it. It’s better than nothing, he guesses. It’s what he gets.

  
*

  
And then he sees the piano at Eliott’s place, and something in his chest gives way.

Lucas feels light, and kind of airy, and can’t tell if it’s because of the joint he smoked or the way Eliott keeps looking at him, like there’s more to Lucas than everyone else sees. The whole room is a pattern of light-shadow-light and it makes Eliott look just on the edge of unreal. Lucas can’t stop looking; isn’t sure if he wants to, when Eliott is always looking back.

But he sees the piano and thinks, _what if I played something_.

He hasn’t played in months. He’s not even sure if he remembers _how_ _to_ , and he doesn’t want to make an idiot out of himself in front of this beautiful boy who invited him home and spent the whole afternoon talking and laughing and looking like he actually enjoys Lucas’ company. Lucas wants to show him something in return for everything Eliott did, for the bus ride and the beer and the silly dubstep dance that weirdly put Lucas at ease.

So he asks, ”Can I try?”

And Eliott says yes. So Lucas plays.

And really — it’s one of those things you learn once and then never really forget. Let it into your heart and it never leaves again. Lucas plays and it feels— good, in this light-dark room, on an ordinary afternoon. He wasn’t expecting this at all. Like something is back, even though Lucas doesn’t want to name it just yet. Like he can build worlds with sound again. Tell stories.

He turns to Eliott, away from the keys, and again — he wasn’t expecting the sparkle in his eyes, the surprise in the angles of his face. Lucas played for Eliott because he wanted to show him something, let him see more than he lets others. And Eliott keeps looking at him.

Lucas played for him because it felt right. Because Eliott is special. Lucas likes the way he laughs, and the sound of his voice, and how his eyes crinkle when he smiles. More than that.

Eliott keeps looking at him like there's more about Lucas than about anyone else, and Lucas keeps looking back and doesn't tell Eliott any of this.

Maybe one day.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://oheliotts.tumblr.com)   
>  [twitter](https://twitter.com/thisbitcch1)


End file.
